


Those Poor Unfortunate Souls

by thatstarlitsky



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Bugs, Coma, Curses, Demonic Possession, Fake-Out Deaths, Happy Halloween, Improper use of an Oar, Knife fights, M/M, Murder, Nobody actually dies in this story they just get really big boo boos, Psychological Horror, San-centric, Strangulation, Thunderstorms, Treasure Hunting, Vague Riddles, deserted island, falling, ghost ship - Freeform, supernatural horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatstarlitsky/pseuds/thatstarlitsky
Summary: To ye who seeks the Isle of Mørke, beware. For as night falls, the mist comes with secrets unforgiving. To ye who walks the Isle of Mørke, beware. For when the hourglass runs empty, ye shall never return to the land of the living.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34
Collections: All Hallows ATEEZ Exchange





	1. The Island

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heaveninbusan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heaveninbusan/gifts).



> PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING. I included every potential trigger I could think of and updated it as I wrote. I kept them as vague as possible so as to avoid spoiling the story, but I also didn’t want to mess around with ignoring distressing triggers for the sake of “not spoiling the story”. This is horror, plain and simple.
> 
> And to you, who gave me the prompt for the All Hallows Eve fic exchange, I hope it’s what you were looking for when you said a ‘fight for survival’.
> 
> I think I watched the Wonderland Halloween stage like 300 times while writing this ngl

The island emerged from the mist like a shadow in moonlight. San lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on the polished wood railing and rubbed the corner of his eye. He squinted, then rubbed one more time. Little by little, the details – rocky bluffs, stunted palm trees and bushes rooted with the heavy determination of living things with an agenda to survive anything – began to emerge. The pearlescent white sand looked innocent, yet the thought of setting foot on it made him vaguely nauseous. After sailing through dense sea fog for most of the night, just about anything appearing as suddenly as the island had would leave him with a nervous stomach.

“Do you see it too?” Wooyoung asked, a half-eaten strip of jerky clutched between his fingers. He wasn’t looking at San – he was focused on the island.

“I see it,” San confirmed. “You should tell the captain.”

“I’m the boy who cried ‘land’, remember?” Wooyoung said with a little grimace.

“Hence why you should do it,” San raised an eyebrow. “Break your streak. Besides, you’re louder than me.”

“I hate you,” Wooyoung huffed, then stuffed the rest of the jerky back into a small, cloth sack in his pocket. He leaned his head over the edge of the crow’s nest to shout down towards the deck where the captain was checking the knots keeping the sails in place.

“Captain!” Wooyoung shouted. “Island straight ahead!”

Captain Hongjoong paused, one heavily calloused hand clutching a rope. He looked up towards the crow’s nest, and even at the height they were at, San could still see the scowl that graced his features.

“I mean it this time! I promise!” Wooyoung added, feeling the burn of the captain’s eyes.

San watched Hongjoong gesture to Jongho, their deckhand. Jongho left the broom he was using to scrape the layer of caked on salt off the deck and ran to the ships bow. San heard the distant shout of him confirming Wooyoung’s words over the sound of the sails snapping in the wind.

“San! Start tying!” Hongjoong called up to them before jogging back towards the helm.

“Not me?” Wooyoung pouted.

“Hey, they still need eyes, and yours are better,” San said, resting his feet on the first rungs of the ladder. He grinned up at Wooyoung before prodding him sharply on the nose. “And you’re still louder than me.”

“I genuinely don’t know if you’re complimenting me anymore,” Wooyoung huffed.

San cackled and blew him a kiss before descending as quickly as he dared. The crow’s nest was perched higher than any of the sails. It meant he would have full view of the ocean in every direction, but would likely not survive a fall if he slipped on his way up or down. Yet, San had been chosen specifically for his position due to his small frame, cat-like grace, and apparent lack of acrophobia. By contrast, Wooyoung had been chosen for his ability to see details and project his voice far enough that whales could hear it for miles, but months of boredom on the open seas sometimes caused him to pull tricks on the crew to ‘keep things interesting’.

Needless to say, not many crew members trusted Wooyoung anymore. Though Hongjoong had threatened to leave him behind at the next port, he never had. San knew it was because deep down, the crew loved Wooyoung for his constant stream of energy, even if it was occasionally misdirected.

When San’s feet finally touched the deck, he went straight to where Seonghwa, Hongjoong’s first mate, was lowering one of the smaller sails on his own. Sweat was beading on his brow, and he was digging his heels in against the pull of the wind. San came up behind him and wrapped the thick rope around his right hand to anchor it and pulled hard enough to cause Seonghwa to stagger slightly. He glanced back with a grateful smile and pulled until they could tie the sail off with a quick and solid knot.

“Hard to starboard!” Wooyoung shouted from above.

Captain Hongjoong didn’t question him this time. He twisted the helm hard enough that the ship tilted as the rudder adjusted. Through the mist, the island loomed large and startling. He could see the green leaves of the palm trees this close, but his eyes darted away. Something jolted in his chest. Where the sky was lightening to the east, he saw the silhouette of a ship. But when he blinked, it had been hidden behind one of the island’s many tall bluffs.

“Let’s get the next one,” Seonghwa said, pulling his wrist and rushing for the next rope where it was tied off to the mast.

The ship glided past the island, and turned around to the west side before they could pull it to a stop with the oars. Jongho and Yunho dropped the anchor and locked it into place. Yunho used a rag to mop the sweat off his forehead before tossing it to Jongho who took it gratefully.

“Fall in,” Hongjoong called, tying off the helm so it wouldn’t turn with the waves. “Wooyoung!”

“Coming!” Wooyoung’s voice echoed. San smiled as he eagerly began to descend the ladder. In the meantime, Seonghwa began to pass out wooden cups of very stale water collected from the last rainstorm they’d weathered. San gulped his down in a few seconds and still felt thirsty.

“Is this the place...?” Yeosang spoke up, squinting through the mist. “It looks like a normal island.”

“Unless my charts are wrong,” Hongjoong said, double checking the compass strapped to his hip. “This is the only piece of land for miles. Last sight of the stars, we were headed in the right direction, and we haven’t changed course.”

“Huh...”

San couldn’t help but agree. The island  _ did _ look normal. There was nothing about it that told tales of the sailors who had gone missing searching for it on behalf of the King. Riches untold, the stories said. An island shrouded in mist. Easy to find, said many eye witnesses who never bothered set foot on it. They didn’t want to be the next to go missing, after all. And yet, they were here. All it had taken was a hefty sack of gold well spent in the port’s tavern, the promise of being able to keep some of whatever was brought back, and enough hubris that made them think that they would be the first to return with tales of the island. They all knew it might be a suicide mission, but they’d gotten this far without any misfortune. San wondered if their luck was soon to run out, or if the missing sailors had gotten lost in the mist, or sank in a storm.

But...that wouldn’t explain the fact that all of the return stories claimed to have never set foot on the beaches. They’d found the island, but had never landed. The ones that vanished had been determined to bring back the so-called ‘treasure’. It was a mystery that San wanted to solve. Captain Hongjoong did too, if the excited way he fidgeted with his compass had anything to say about it. The captain had always been hungry for adventure. He always wanted to be first in everything. It was why crewing with him was such a treat. By now, he was a national hero. By extension, that made San one too.

“Let’s get the tents unpacked and launch the rowboats,” Hongjoong said. “Four to a boat – everyone gets an oar.”

“Aye,” a string of affirmatives rang out as the crew scattered to collect what they would need for the journey to shore. San and Wooyoung pried open barrels down below and filled leather satchels with preserved foodstuffs to last a few days until they could find fresh food on the island. Nearby, Mingi and Jongho were organizing the poles for the canvas tents and rolling the fabric around them to make it easier to carry. With the satchel slung over his shoulder, San grabbed the ends of a few of the loose poles and supported them. Wooyoung rushed forward to hold the hatch open for them.

On deck, Yeosang had finished preparing a rowboat for launch and was loading weaponry into the hull. Cutlasses, and gunpowder pistols were laid alongside several broad machetes. Hongjoong peered into the hull and made a gesture as he said something more. Yeosang set the rifle he was holding aside and climbed into the boat.

“Seonghwa, Yunho, Jongho, board up,” Hongjoong called. “The rest, let’s get this next boat loaded.”

Wooyoung took over for Jongho in carrying the tent out. Hongjoong helped lay the poles flat and adjusted them on the deck to bundle them properly. Over the crashing of the waves, San heard the creak of the winch turning as the first boat descended down towards the sea. He felt sweat break out on his forehead as he dragged the small boat into place and began tying off the ropes. He tucked the tent poles and canvas as close to the middle as he could and layered the satchels of food alongside it. He clambered in at the boarding order and held an oar between his legs to keep it secure.

Though he’d launched the rowboats more times than he could count, it didn’t get any more or less difficult. The winches took most of the weight, but it was still up to them to manually feed the ropes to the pulleys without letting go. San and Hongjoong took the brunt of the weight, as Wooyoung and Mingi picked up the slack.

They tied off the ropes to a metal peg next to the ropes from the first rowboat and scooped up their oars. They rowed with the waves pushing up onto the shore. The first boat had almost reached the island, and Jongho was gathering the rope knotted to the bow to get ready to beach it. San watched him leap into the water and swim closer to shore. His head bobbed like a cork before his shoulders came out of the water, then his waist. He wound the rope taught and began to pull. His feet emerged from the water and dug into the sand. He abruptly pitched backwards and fell. The rope went slack, and Seonghwa threw himself from the boat to catch it before they could drift away. His shouted words were unintelligible over the roar of the ocean.

He must’ve just tripped, San thought, as he watched Jongho sit up with a hand pressed to his forehead. He shook it off, stood up, and stepped back into the water to grab the rope again. Seonghwa waved him off and pointed towards a rock. Jongho nodded and sat down. Even from a distance, San could see that his complexion had turned the colour of curdled milk.

“San, swim up there and help him get that boat on shore,” Hongjoong ordered. “We’ll take care of this one.”

“Aye,” San agreed, and dove into the waves. The water was just shy of warm, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable. He kicked his feet until his hands found sand and he stood upright. He grabbed the rope just behind Seonghwa and began to pull.

The dry sand bit into his feet. Something jolted through his body. It was like being too close to a lightning strike. He gasped as his knees locked and his head spun with an unknown sensation akin to fear and vertigo. He stumbled, and Seonghwa followed a second later. On instinct, San let go of the rope and grabbed Seonghwa’s waist to keep him upright. He was breathing heavily as he cast a startled look over to Jongho who had leaned against the palm tree beside him. His eyes were closed, and he was still enough that he looked as though he’d fainted again.

“What was that?” Seonghwa asked.

“I don’t know,” San somehow managed to get out. His tongue felt dry and thick. His ears were ringing. He tapped on the side of his head to shake it off.

“Be careful when you step on shore,” Seonghwa said as Yeosang began to climb out of the boat.

Yeosang paused, then looked down at the beach. He stepped out of the water and went rigid for the briefest of moments before looking up in surprise.

“What is this place?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa replied.

Yunho looked nervous as he stepped towards the beach. He hesitated only a moment before stepping out. He staggered and caught Seonghwa around the shoulders to keep himself upright.

“S-Sorry,” Yunho said, and straightened himself.

San wondered if he shouldn’t tell the others to turn back. By the time he’d found his tongue well enough to speak, however, they were already yanking their boat onto the shore. They simultaneously fell into the sand, though Hongjoong regained just enough composure to make sure the rope was securely wrapped around his wrist. Mingi lay on his back, trembling from head to foot.

“I’m not superstitious,” Wooyoung said, helping Hongjoong yank the boat the rest of the way up the shore. “But I wasn’t imagining that, right?”

“If you mean the feeling of someone sticking you in the spine with a hot iron fork?” Jongho asked, back on his feet. His hair was rumpled from the number of times he’d massaged his forehead. “No – I definitely felt that.”

Hongjoong tugged the hat from his head and brushed the bangs from his eyes. “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he said, though there was a pitch in his voice that suggested he was just as nervous as the rest of them. He was just better at hiding it. Either that, he was more excited than he was before. “Let’s set up camp. I want a fire going before we do anything else.”

“I think we should just go back to the ship and go home,” Mingi spoke up, his hands shaking as he brushed the sand from his arms.

“We came this far,” Hongjoong said, scanning the beach with bright eyes. “Let’s not go back until we have a story to tell.”

“I just have a bad feeling, that’s all,” Mingi protested.

“That would be a great story, Mingi,” Yeosang said, grinning as he leaned on his oar. “I found the island, but I got a bad feeling, so I left.”

Mingi flushed and opened his mouth to retort.

“Enough,” Hongjoong interrupted. “We’re not leaving. Tents up.”

Nobody dared protest. They finished tying the rowboats to palm trees and started to unload. They rolled out the large canvas tent they would all be sharing and propped and secured it on firm earth that wasn’t overgrown with weeds. It was within sight of the ship, but far enough away from the waves that the tides wouldn’t flood them out in the middle of the night.

As the sun rose, the fog trickled away to a faint mist that lingered in a soft haze over the island. San expected to feel the heat burning the back of his neck, but felt only the cool damp of ocean spray. Each kiss of the wind had his skin prickling with goosebumps. He was grateful when Seonghwa got the small fire going and knelt down close to it when the tent was secured.

Hongjoong passed out the small, cloth bags of that day’s rations. Normally, San liked to save a few morsels for a rainy day – because on the open ocean, sometimes food disappeared far quicker than he would like – but he found himself devouring every bite and handing the empty one back to Seonghwa so it could be filled later.

“I’m sure some of you must be tired,” Hongjoong said when he’d finished eating. “So, all of you who were up last night on the ship can unpack and rest in the tent. I want one day crew posted on watch, and the rest will start trying to clear out some of this brush.” He gestured to the tangled mess of vines and bushes that hid most of the forest from sight.

“I’ll stay on watch,” Yunho volunteered.

“You were on night too, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa spoke up. “So, I hope you’re not thinking about going into the woods.”

The guilty tint to Hongjoong’s cheeks said that he  _ was _ intending to explore. Seonghwa’s broad grin left no room for argument.

“I’ll lead Yeosang and Mingi into the woods,” Seonghwa said. “We won’t go far – we’ll stay within earshot and see if we can’t find anything to eat.”

“I already found something,” Yeosang said, then pointed upwards towards the palm trees that offered surprisingly little shade on the beach. “Coconuts.”

“I’ll let San handle that,” Hongjoong said, nodding at him. “He’s the better climber. But I need him to sleep first.”

“I can go up and grab a few before I rest,” San said confidently. “I’m thirsty, anyway – and that rainwater is going sour.”

A supportive mumble swept through them. Even Hongjoong grimaced.

“Alright,” he agreed. “Night crew, if you want to sleep now, go inside. If you want to catch coconuts, stay here.” Hongjoong then turned his eyes on Seonghwa. “And you...don’t go far. We don’t know what’s out there yet, so don’t take any chances.”

“Aye,” Seonghwa nodded, then rose to his feet. Yeosang followed, while Mingi hesitated after taking a slow, nervous breath. San watched them retrieve machetes from the rowboat. Seonghwa wrapped an arm around Mingi’s shoulder as they walked down the beach, searching for a less overgrown area to start exploring. Hongjoong watched them go. San wondered if he was the only one who saw how worried the captain looked.

Jongho stifled a yawn behind his hand and stood up. “I’ll help with the coconuts,” he said.

“You look tired,” Yunho pointed out. “Maybe you should rest.”

“In a bit,” Jonho said. “Besides, you’ll need help cracking them.”

“Let’s get started, then,” San said, and stood up. Leaving the fire behind made his skin prickle with chills. He rubbed his bare arms and contemplated the coconut trees.

He wrapped a rope around his fingers and looped the length around the tree to keep him secure as he climbed. Down below, Wooyoung, Hongjoong, Yunho and Jongho waited with open arms to catch the coconuts he dropped. He pulled his belt dagger free and clipped off the green ones – the unripe ones that would be carrying the most water.

“This should be enough,” Hongjoong called up to San. “Come back down now, okay?”

“Let me just get this last one,” San said, stretching his arm out.

Movement out of the corner of his eye distracted him. He turned just in time to see a dark shape retreat behind a boulder. A moment later, the tree shook with a gust of wind so solid, it knocked him off balance.

“San—!” Someone shouted.

The rope slid from his hands, burning his palms and twisting two of his fingers on his right hand at a painful angle. He saw the ground rushing up to meet him. He wondered if this was the last thing a bird saw when a cat snatched it from the sky.

He landed hard, and he heard a pained groan that wasn’t his own. He lay still, breathing hard and looking up at the hazy blue sky. Every nerve in his body was on fire, and the hand with the broken fingers throbbed with a sharp, blazing agony that demanded attention. A few feet away, his belt knife lay point down in the sand.

“Are you okay?” Jongho said in his ear.

“Y-Yeah,” San said with a nod. “I think I’m alright. I think...I broke a finger though...”

Yunho appeared at his side, his face pale. “Let me see,” he said, and San offered it to him and looked away. Jongho wrapped an arm around his middle and Wooyoung held his uninjured hand. Though he was ready for the pain of setting the bones – because he’d been through such a thing before – he still cried out. Wooyoung held his hand a little tighter, and Jongho feathered his fingers through his hair in a comforting gesture. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

“They were just dislocated,” Yunho said. “I’ll splint them and get a salve on these blisters.”

“Y-Yeah,” San stammered.

Rope burn was a blessedly easy fix. When the wind could rip the sails from the hands of sailors, palms took damage hard and fast. They either calloused or the sailor gave up. The fresh blisters on his hands would be nothing more than new patches of stiff skin in a few weeks. The fact that he even had enough soft skin on his hands to burn was due to his work primarily in the crow’s nest.

But, compared to the fact that he could’ve died, the dislocated fingers and friction burns were nothing. He’d rather be breathing and in pain than dead on an adventure that had only just begun.

Yunho was bandaging San’s hands when the sound of rapid, crunching footsteps made him look up.

It was Yeosang.

“What happened?” Hongjoong demanded.

“It’s Mingi—it’s—Seonghwa has him—they’re both—”

San didn’t get a chance to ask. Seonghwa staggered out of the brush with Mingi’s arm slung over his shoulder. He was staggering under the weight of the taller man, and Mingi wasn’t much more than dead weight.

Yunho abandoned San’s bandages. Wooyoung stepped in to finish tying them, but his eyes kept darting up to Mingi and Seonghwa. San felt a wave of nausea swoop through him at the sight of the bulging pustules lining every inch of their bare skin.

“It was some kind of ant,” Yeosang was saying. “Mingi stepped in the nest or something and they just came up on him and Seonghwa went in to pull him out and got it too. I had to swat them all off them with a leaf but—” Yeosang extended his arms, where several welts were already growing.

“Get these treated,” Hongjoong ordered, and Yunho immediately took Mingi’s weight. “Make sure those bites aren’t venomous.”

“I’m f-fine,” Mingi stammered. “I d-don’t th-think...venom...I’m f-f-fine j-just...”

“It hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before,” Yeosang said, and San noted the way his hands were shaking. “I think he’s just in shock.”

Seonghwa’s milky countenance supported the diagnosis. Hongjoong wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright.

“Everyone, in the tent,” Hongjoong ordered. “Wooyoung, take watch. Keep an eye out for more of those...things.”

Nobody dared argue. Jongho laid out blankets for Mingi and Seonghwa, and Yunho returned with the medical bag. San stayed close to the tent flap in case Wooyoung needed help.

It was like something from a nightmare. As Yunho stripped away Mingi’s clothes, several of the dead insects fell away. They’d been crushed in Yeosang’s attempt to clear them away. Seonghwa had one that had fallen inside of his boot. The ants were the size of his thumb, and the wicked pincers made up half of its head. Yeosang borrowed a pair of Yunho’s tweezers to pick one up and examine it up close. He shuddered and stomped on the already dead insect with the heel of his boot. San silently agreed. It was better that those things were extra dead.

“Uh, guys,” Wooyoung’s voice was high and frightened. San immediately turned and pulled the tent flap aside. He saw an empty beach, and Wooyoung’s petrified expression.

“Oh—no, it’s gone,” Wooyoung whispered.

“What was it?” San asked.

“I thought—I thought I saw—but no—it’s gone maybe I was just seeing things—”

Hongjoong pulled the other tent flap aside and peered out over the beach. “Wooyoung,” he said tiredly. “Now’s not the time for jokes.”

“I just...I thought I saw a shadow—it looked like a man, but it was...yeah, it was probably just a shadow,” Wooyoung stammered. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

Hongjoong stepped out of the tent. San distantly heard the harsh whisper of Hongjoong’s near-silent scolding, and Wooyoung’s shaky apologies. San slumped back against one of the support posts and tried not to sigh. His hands were still throbbing beneath the bandages. Yunho was carefully smearing salve on Mingi’s boils. The tall man looked to be barely conscious, but the hard rise and fall of his breathing told San he was still with them. Seonghwa was sitting upright as Jongho took care of his boils with a steady, but nervous hand. Yeosang was looking after himself, but he didn’t look upset about it. He kept casting worried glances towards Mingi and Seonghwa. San wondered what the chances were that within hours of landfall, four of them had been injured. Perhaps it wasn’t serious. Yet, if Jongho hadn’t caught him, he might’ve broken his neck. If Mingi hadn’t been pulled out of the nest quickly enough, how many more bites would it have taken to kill him? It was a grim thought – one that had San pulling his knees up to his chest.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong returned to the tent. Wooyoung sulkily wandered over to his bedroll and unwound it. He lied down and pulled it up to his chin. Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair.

“San,” he said, turning towards him. “I know you’re injured – and I know you were part of the night crew. But I need you to take watch until sundown.”

San nodded his head. “Okay,” he agreed. He didn’t think he could sleep just yet, anyway. His heart was still beating too hard and fast.

“Yeosang, I want you to take first watch. I’ll be with you. Second watch will go to Jongho – and Seonghwa, if he’s up to it. If not, wake up Wooyoung and take him with you.”

“Aye,” Jongho agreed.

Hongjoong sighed and picked a stick out of his carry bag. It was as long as his forearm and as thick as his thumb. He carved a notch into it using his belt knife and tucked it next to his bedroll.

“Day one,” he said, and the exhaustion in the captain’s tone was palpable. San turned away and slipped out of the tent.

The beach was empty as he sat down on the driftwood log they’d pulled aside to act as a bench. San used a branch to poke at the fire and reignited a few of the coals to turn the damp. He looked up through the smoke and saw a shape along the distant shore. A shadow of a man – black as night – silhouetted against the sky.

The man turned, and faded into the shadows.

San kept his eyes locked on that spot until the sun went down. Hongjoong relieved him of duty, and he fell asleep to the idle sound of his crew as the sea fog rolled back in with the night.


	2. The Ghost Ship

San woke to the sensation of fingers brushing along his cheek. He hummed quietly and looked up at Wooyoung.

“Morning,” he greeted sleepily, and lightly hooked his uninjured fingers in his clothes. “Come here.”

Wooyoung laughed softly, but obliged him and cuddled close. “Yunho told me to change the bandages on your hands.”

“Do that,” San said with a small sigh. “In a minute...I want more sleep.”

“Me too,” Wooyoung agreed. “But Seonghwa’s got coconuts baking on the fire. Best get up before it’s all gone.”

San groaned at that. The others  _ would _ eat it all.

Wooyoung held his wrists and gently pulled him upright. San sighed as the bandages on his palms were unwound to reveal the sore, blistering wounds, and the tight splints over his right ring and pinky finger. Wooyoung washed the salve off with warm water and made sure it was as dry as possible before reapplying a new layer and wrapping his hands back up. San stared down at the new bandages and wondered exactly how he was going to do anything to help get around the island. He hadn’t thought of that the night before. He wouldn’t even be able to hold a machete, or carry supplies, let alone climb a tree for another basket of coconuts. The feeling of uselessness clenched at his chest. He willed himself to get better soon.

Seonghwa had saved him a shell of coconut meat, and a wooden cup full of the sweet milk. He’d already scraped it free of the husk, so San just used his left hand to spoon it into his mouth. Wooyoung helped him drink so he wouldn’t spill it on his bandages. It was a strange breakfast. The silence that permeated the camp was borderline suffocating. The sea mist had yet to dissipate with the morning sun, and the swirling shadows it created resembled faces staring out at them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting for them to move away from the fire. He suppressed a shiver.

Jongho and Seonghwa were long past drowsy from waking up before the sun rose for their watch. Jongho was the quietest of them all, sitting as still as a rock as he stared into the fire. The only sign that he was living was the slow, rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath. Seonghwa, despite the bug bites covering his skin like a vicious pox, moved often, though gingerly and with the occasional wince as he stretched one of the sores further than he intended to. Mingi looked worse for wear, and some of the bites had broken in the night and were now scabbed over and layered with salve to keep away infection. Yunho sat close to him. The skin beneath his eyes was dark and baggy from his restless night. Yeosang, however, was ready for the day. Undeterred by the swollen bites on his arms, he finished his breakfast, unsheathed his machete, and started sharpening it with his whetstone. The grating, metallic sound was eerie in the morning mist, and San felt chills racing down his spine with every metallic scrape, but he didn’t speak up. Even the sound of the whetstone was better than the muffled crash of the waves through the fog.

It was Hongjoong who caught San’s attention the most that morning. He had barely touched his breakfast, and his normally placid face was marred with a frown as he watched the fire. He looked as though he hadn’t slept after he completed his watch, which wouldn’t have surprised him. Seonghwa also noticed that their captain hadn’t eaten, and he nudged the coconut shell in his hands to bring Hongjoong’s attention back to it. He stared down at it, as though he’d forgotten it was there, before eating a few more bites. He stopped again, then set the coconut aside. Seonghwa frowned, but said nothing.

“We need to make a decision,” Hongjoong spoke up, his voice cutting through the silence. Yeosang’s whetstone halted, and Jongho focused his eyes on the captain rather than the fire.

“I’m sure we’re still nervous, and rightly so,” he went on. “But we need to decide. Yesterday, four of us sustained injuries, some of them significant.” Hongjoong’s eyes darted between San, Seonghwa and Mingi, and San’s palms began to throb once more. “If there are some of you who wish to discontinue this expedition, please speak freely.”

Wooyoung began to fidget. San looped his arm around his wrist instead of holding his hand. Wooyoung gripped it softly and leaned against his shoulder.

“I...am undecided,” Mingi spoke up, though considering the nervous pitch in his voice, San wondered if he just didn’t want to be the first one to beg to go home. “I just...don’t want to go into the woods again.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Hongjoong said, sitting up a little straighter. “Did you see the nest before you stepped into it...?”

Mingi shook his head. “It was...kind of in this clearing. There were no bushes, or anything. It was just grass.” he explained. “I was following Seonghwa,” he scratched the back of his neck. “And then the ground suddenly caved beneath my feet and they just...came up all over me.” He shuddered and curled up on himself. He rubbed his arms to brush off invisible insects, but he flinched as he brushed along the welts instead. “Then Seonghwa came from behind and pulled me out—so...I don’t know how he got there when he was in front of me the whole time. I don’t know how  _ he _ didn’t step on the nest.”

“Mingi,” Seonghwa said, biting his lip. “I was always right behind you. You weren’t following me.”

Mingi lifted his head. His hands curled into fists against his arms. “Then...who was I following...?”

Eyes turned. Yeosang sheathed his machete and set his whetstone aside. “I was ahead,” he admitted. “Because I was clearing the trail. But...I didn’t realize they weren’t behind me until I heard Mingi screaming. They were almost out of sight behind the trees – I had to push through a bush to get to them.”

Eyes were back on Mingi. San wondered how it was possible that Mingi could accidentally follow someone else – someone he thought was Seonghwa – when Yeosang had been the one up ahead the entire time.

Unless...

“I  _ really _ thought I was following Seonghwa,” Mingi said, his shoulders shaking. “I looked away for a moment because I saw this flower – it was kind of like a hibiscus but green and blue – and I just wanted to look at it for a moment. When I looked back, Seonghwa was in front of me, so I just assumed he was following Yeosang, and...” He made a gesture to describe the ground collapsing before he was clutching his arms to himself once more.

“And...the person you were following...” Hongjoong said slowly. “Did you see where they went?”

Mingi shook his head. “After the bugs came up, I looked down, and then I looked back up to try to follow him but...he was gone.”

“What did he look like...?” Hongjoong asked.

“It was...a man,” Mingi said slowly. “He...was wearing black, like Seonghwa does, so...I really thought it was him.”

“Um...” Wooyoung spoke up hesitantly. “I...I know I was...told not to say anything, but...I...really  _ did _ see a man in black on the beach.”

Hongjoong sighed quietly. Yunho averted his eyes and began to fidget, bracing himself for one of their captain’s infamous Wooyoung lectures.

“I saw it too,” San spoke up. “When I was on watch by myself. I saw a man over on the far shore. He turned and disappeared. And...” he hesitated, wondering how to put this. “When I was up in the tree yesterday trying to get the last coconut, I...saw a shadow next to a rock. It vanished just before I fell.”

Seonghwa took a breath, and looked towards Hongjoong. “What are the chances that three of us see the same thing...?”

Hongjoong shook his head. He drummed his fingertips on his knees, then looked up. “Let’s assume...those men you saw were real. That would mean...that we are not alone on this island.”

“I think...” San began to speak again. “Just before we rounded the island, I think I saw another ship. It’s on the west side of the island. Maybe...maybe there’s another crew here...?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hongjoong demanded.

“Because I didn’t know if I saw it,” San protested. “I only saw it for a second out of the corner of my eye and then it was gone.”

Hongjoong massaged his forehead. Then, he lifted his head again. “I want to take a vote. There will be no judgement on what we want as individuals. This is to decide how we will go forward from here. Those who wish to continue exploring this island, hands up.”

Hongjoong raised a hand – it figured though, San thought. Their captain had a thirst for adventure, and the mystery had just gotten more interesting. San couldn’t help himself either. His bandaged hand joined his captain’s, and Yeosang’s rose a moment later. The other hands remained down.

“And those wishing to leave...?” Hongjoong spoke up.

Five hands rose. Wooyoung let go of San’s arm to lift his own. Seonghwa barely hesitated, and Mingi lifted his hand fast enough that he flinched. Yunho mirrored Mingi, and Jongho tentatively raised a hand with a nervous frown.

“Majority vote,” Hongjoong said, with a nod. “We pack up the row boats today and get back to our ship by sundown.”

“Do you think some of us shouldn’t go find that other ship...?” Yeosang asked. “If it’s moored on the beach, we won’t have to go through the forest to find it.”

“I think we need all hands here,” Seonghwa pointed out. “We need the tent taken down, and everything packed into the row boats.”

“My hands are useless,” San pointed out, holding his bandaged hands up. “I can walk down the beach and go have a look. Yeosang can come with me if he wants.”

Yeosang looked eager to support that idea. Seonghwa looked towards Hongjoong for help. Hongjoong, however, looked thoughtful. He turned to Seonghwa and tilted his head.

“How many do you need to take down the tent...?” He asked. His eyes had the wild glitter of excitement San was familiar with.

Seonghwa sighed, and held up his hands in defeat. “I suppose five will be enough.”

“Then,” Hongjoong said, picking up his coconut again. “Yeosang, San and I will go see if we can find that ship.”

“I still think we should all stay here,” Seonghwa said with a pitying smile. “Just in case we finish up before you get back.”

“The island is pretty small,” Hongjoong said confidently. “We’ll be back long before sundown. And we won’t cut through the woods – we’ll go along the beach.”

“Still...be careful,” Seonghwa pleaded.

“We will,” Hongjoong promised, then eagerly finished off what was left of his coconut. “Whenever we’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Yeosang said, strapping his machete to his hip.

“San...?”

San nodded, and gently pulled Wooyoung’s hand off him. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

Wooyoung nodded, though he looked more than a little worried.

Hongjoong stood up and collected his cutlass from the tent. San followed him to get his, but then realized it would be useless in his battered hands. He gripped his belt dagger, and shrugged before grabbing a bandolier inlaid with throwing knives. Something he didn’t have to grip too hard would do better than a weighty sword.

They departed down the beach to the nervous waves of their crewmates. Hongjoong carried a torch in front of them in an effort to turn away the oppressive fog. At their left, the sound of the ocean flooded their senses, and at their right, the rippling sound of trees and the buzz of insects. The sight and sound of their camp vanished long before they found the ship.

The sun rose in the sky, and little by little, the mist began to clear. San kept his eyes on the horizon, searching for any sign of the shadow men, and wondering if they would appear. They rounded the edge of the beach, and found one off the large, rocky bluffs he’d seen from the ship blocking their path. Hongjoong stopped, looked up, and began to approach the cliff.

“Do you think...?” He began, looking back towards them.

“Captain—!” Yeosang pointed upwards, and San craned his neck.

On the edge of the cliff high above them, three shadow men stood, staring down at them. They were cloaked in all black, and looked like an empty void against the blue sky. San felt a prickle of fear race through him, but Yeosang’s eager smile matched Hongjoong’s.

“Let’s go,” Hongjoong said with the certainty of a child desperate to try something daring.

“Captain,” San spoke up. “I can’t climb.”

Hongjoong looked back at him, then at the cliff. “You don’t have to – look. There’s an incline.” He jammed the head of the torch into the sand to put it out and left it propped against the cliff. Then, he started up the side with his chest pressed to the rocky wall.

“Hold onto me, okay?” Yeosang offered with a smile.

San took a breath, then nodded. He looped his arm through Yeosang’s, then sidled sideways up the side of the cliff.

Despite the years the cliff had been here, it was still solid. Yet, San could see evidence of old rock falls down below – sharp, deadly spires that would mean the end if any of them took a tumble. Though he’d fallen from the tree the day before, and a mere gust of wind had been his undoing, San felt little fear. One part of him knew it was because Yeosang was likely to catch him, the other part was that he knew that if he did fall, he wouldn’t suffer for long. The certainty of a painless death was a strangely reassuring thought.

Hongjoong clambered to the top of the cliff first before reaching down to help Yeosang. They both grabbed San under the armpits to haul him up. Despite his initial misgivings about climbing the cliff, San had to admit it was worth it. The horizon and the blue ocean peeled out before them, and the dense green of the island’s forest rose and fell in a rippling canopy that churned and undulated in the wind. From their position, they could see their own ship anchored on the other side, bobbing in the water and awaiting their return.

“It looks like there’s a storm coming,” Yeosang said quietly, pointing over the island to where cumulonimbus clouds pierced the sky like spires.

Hongjoong grimaced. “Let’s hope taking down the tent today wasn’t a bad idea.”

“We can pack it in under the rowboats,” Yeosang said with a shrug. “If worst comes to worst, we’ll just clear some brush and wait it out under the trees.”

Movement caught San’s eye. He turned towards it just in time to see one of the shadow men vanish over the side of the cliff.

That was when he noticed the flag.

San turned away and stepped towards it. His heart raced faster as the main mast came into view. The crow’s nest was perched at the top, and one of the shadow men leaned over the edge of it, watching them. Down below on the deck, the shadow men wandered, some of them performing familiar ship maintenance chores. One of them stopped what they were doing and looked up at them. One by one, the shadows began to turn and vanish. One moment they were there, and the next, they were gone. It was as though the ship itself had absorbed them into its woodwork. San looked up at the crow’s nest. That shadow had vanished too.

“Incredible,” Hongjoong breathed as he looked down at the ship. “How do we get down there...?”

“If we go down there, I think it might be better if we cut around the cliff and went back to camp that way instead of climbing it again,” Yeosang stated. “Ants be damned. We’ll just be careful of clearings.”

“Alright,” Hongjoong agreed. “Let’s find a way down...”

They found it in the form of another incline like a set of stairs leading down to the beach below. The structure was so uniform, that San knew it must’ve been carved there deliberately. He watched the ship, wondering if its occupants had been the ones to make the inclines leading up and over the edge of the cliff. He thought about how one of the shadow men might’ve led Mingi into the ant’s nest. He wondered if they were leading them into another trap. San wondered if it would be worth voicing such an opinion to the other two, or if they were too excited to explore the old ship to worry about that.

The ship was moored just off shore, with a gangway extended over the shallows and supported by driftwood trusses buried into the reefs. The tide was falling, but the ship was barely floating. The hull was buried into the sand from years of silt deposits. Though the ship had apparently been there a very long time, the gangway functioned as though it was brand new. It barely buckled as they climbed up onto the ship. The wood was worn, and in desperate need of a polish. Rot and the corrosion of salt water had stripped away the protective layers that had coated the once elegant vessel. The mast had intricate carvings as high as he could see, and the railings were shaped like ornate columns at temples back on the mainland. Here and there, the faintest scraps of faded paint could be seen, suggesting the brilliant colours that had once bedecked the ship’s surface. The flag flapping high above them had been torn in three places, yet still flew proudly. The design had long since faded, but San could just make out a compass shaped like an eight-pointed star. He wondered how the ship had run aground – how long it had sat, rotting on this beach and becoming steadily more decrepit as the sun, rain and wind tried their hardest to erase it.

“This must be the captain’s quarters,” Hongjoong said excitedly, and stepped over creaking wood towards the door near the stern as though it would never give way beneath his feet. San envied that confidence. He stepped far more carefully, and winced when the rotting wood sank far more than he would’ve liked beneath his feet.

Hongjoong tried the knob, and found it stuck. He jammed his shoulder into it, and with a crunch and a groan, the door to the captain’s room swung open. Hongjoong paused for only a brief moment before disappearing inside. Yeosang stopped in the doorway and turned back towards San with an awestruck smile.

“You have to see this,” he said, then vanished inside as well.

San took a deep breath that tasted of old wood and sea water. He stepped into the room and suppressed a gasp.

A large table was the centerpiece, and an ancient map of faded ink and crumbling parchment took up an entire side wall. At the back, what was once glassed over windows were only holes and crumbling shards that let the ocean spray and damp sea breeze inside. Old navigation tools scattered shelves along the wall, and a mouldering bed hung on rusted chains from a plank of wood that folded into the wall when it wasn’t in use. San assumed the lock that kept it in the wall when it wasn’t in use had broken off long ago.

But the room wasn’t the most impressive part. Sitting on the wooden table that occupied the center of the room was an hourglass as tall as his forearm and as broad as his palm. It was made of tarnished bronze and dusty glass, but contained a large amount of golden sand that might’ve been real gold flakes, considering their luster. The sand was running down into the bottom of the glass, collecting in a pile at the bottom. San noted that a third of the sand had already slid out of the top. At the rate it was trickling at, it might take a few more days for it to run out. He wondered who had started the clock and suppressed a shiver.

“Do you think this might be the treasure...?” Yeosang asked.

“It sure looks like gold,” Hongjoong said, his eyes bright. He reached out to touch the hourglass, then paused. San saw what had made him freeze a moment later.

On the wooden table in front of them, words had sprung up as though lit by blue flames carved into the surface of the table. It took San a moment to digest them, and he had to read them four times before the meaning began to sink in.

_ To ye who seeks the Isle of Mørke, beware. For as night falls, the mist comes with secrets unforgiving. To ye who walks the Isle of Mørke, beware. For when the hourglass runs empty, ye shall never return to the land of the living. _

Hongjoong and Yeosang exchanged significant glances, then looked back towards San. He felt about as pale as they both looked. Hongjoong’s complexion had turned a shade of green reminiscent of the time they’d all eaten from a spoiled can of beans.

“So...when this hourglass...” Yeosang said softly.

The golden sand continued to flow. San could hear it scraping through the glass like a ticking clock.

A cold laugh sounded behind them. San whipped around, and the ring of Hongjoong’s cutlass and Yeosang’s machete echoed dully through the wooden room. A shadow man stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Hongjoong stepped between them, his cutlass catching the light of the hourglass, and the sun flickering through the windows. “Who are you?” He demanded.

The shadow man laughed again. His head tilted, then his hand reached out. His legs didn’t move as he rushed towards them. Yeosang yelped and raised his machete, but Hongjoong stood his ground. He grunted as the shadow man passed directly through him and vanished. His knees gave out beneath him, and he clutched his forehead with a pained gasp. His cutlass fell to the floor with a metallic clatter.

“No...” Hongjoong rasped. “No, no,  _ no, _ I won’t!”

“Hongjoong?” Yeosang knelt next to him. “Hongjoong—are you okay?”

Hongjoong’s nails dug into the sides of his face. They raked long, bloody scratches down his temples and cheeks. He thrashed around, making guttural noises that didn’t sound human – yet they were unlike any animal San had heard before. Yeosang looked up at him helplessly, his eyes wide with terror.

Then, Hongjoong’s hand darted towards his waist and ripped his belt dagger free. Yeosang’s breath caught in his throat just before the knife slashed out towards him. He brought his hand up just in time to block a fatal strike, but the blade slashed him from elbow to wrist. Blood poured from the wound as Yeosang shrieked in pain and fell onto his back.

“San—! Help!”

Frozen, San could only watch in horror as the captain rose. His face was different. His lips were red and cracked, and blood dripped from his right eye. His head tilted at an unnatural angle, and his wicked smile made San want to be ill. His eyes darted to where Yeosang was frantically ripping off his shirt and binding his bleeding arm. The dagger in the captain’s hand dripped placidly onto the wooden floor. Hongjoong licked his red painted lips.

A large, worn out oar sat propped on the wall at his right. San didn’t think. He lunged for it, and swung it around to slam heavily into the side of Hongjoong’s head. The captain collapsed in a heap, and San saw a shadow leap from his body and whip back out through the door. San’s hands throbbed painfully. He’d torn several blisters.

San trembled as he stared down at Hongjoong’s unconscious body. He prayed he hadn’t killed him. He looked up at Yeosang, whose makeshift bandage was already stained with blood. It dripped dangerously through the fabric and onto the ship’s crumbling deck.

“Are you okay?” San asked.

“It’s bleeding really badly,” Yeosang said, his lips pale. “I don’t know if I can stop it. Can you tie a tourniquet?”

San nodded. His hands still ached, but there was little concern about messing them up even more at this point. He used his knife to tear a chunk off his sleeve and wound it tightly around Yeosang’s bicep, just above his elbow. Yeosang flinched as he yanked the knot taut, but let out a sigh of relief, as the blood flow slowed. It would hold until they got back to camp.

“This thing has lifeboats, right?” San asked.

“I...yeah I think I saw a rowboat,” Yeosang said. “Let’s...let’s launch it.”

San gave up on protecting his hands. He gripped Hongjoong beneath his shoulders and dragged him towards the door. He looked one last time at the hourglass and shook off the unease it gave him. He let Yeosang kick the door shut behind them. He held his arm above his head.

The row boat on the ghost ship dangled placidly over the side on rusty chains, and looked worse for wear. San rapped on the wood, satisfied at the integrity, and hoisted Hongjoong’s dead weight into it. He grabbed the oars and stuffed them into the loops on either side of the boat. It swayed ominously as Yeosang climbed inside and began to turn the winch.

“Please be seaworthy,” Yeosang whispered as the boat hit the water. It rocked, and creaked, but no water leaked inside. Yeosang nodded, and held a wooden bucket kept together by rusted iron bindings in his lap. Hongjoong’s head was pillowed on his feet, but he kept his eyes firmly locked on the hull just in case water started to trickle inside.

And San rowed. He rowed hard enough that tears began to leak down his cheeks from the pain of his throbbing hands. The waves rocked and jolted them, but Hongjoong didn’t stir. Yeosang fidgeted with the makeshift bandage around his arm and pressed on his fingertips absentmindedly. His pale face grew paler, and San feared he would faint from blood loss despite the tourniquet keeping the bloody gash isolated. He rowed harder. He choked on a sob.

Finally, he saw figures along the beach, running and waving. He rowed towards shore, and Yunho and Seonghwa yanked them out of the rickety boat. Jongho scooped up Hongjoong’s unconscious body and kicked the boat away. San saw a layer of water along the bottom that had been hidden by Hongjoong, and knew that they might not have made it much further.

Seonghwa wrapped an arm around him and held him upright. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded.

“Demons,” San whispered. “They’re demons...”

He heard Seonghwa’s voice echo distantly. His head spun as he fainted. 


	3. The Storm

When San woke again, it was to the sound of thunder. He was laying beneath one of the rowboats as rain poured over the sides and into the sand. Wooyoung was on his left, and Jongho was on his right, and they were huddled together under one, damp blanket as the sky poured noisily onto the hull of the rowboat.

“San...? Are you awake...?” Wooyoung asked.

“Shh,” Jongho whispered.

“I’m awake,” San mumbled.

Wooyoung sighed in relief. He hugged San tightly and buried his face in his chest. “I was so worried...”

“How are they?” San asked. “Yeosang and Hongjoong?”

“Yeosang’s stitched up,” Wooyoung said. “He’s in what little of the tent we managed to get back up in time before the storm hit. Hongjoong was still out, last I saw. What happened out there?”

Jongho shifted next to him, lifting his head off the ground where he’d pillowed it on his arm. He looked tired, but mostly, he looked curious.

“Nobody else is hurt...right...?” San asked. “Nothing else happened while we were away...?”

Jongho shook his head. “We saw the boat with two of you in it and...we feared the worst.”

San nodded, then let the back of his head crunch tiredly into the sand. There would be grit on his scalp for a few days, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Yeosang said it was you who hit Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said tentatively. “Seonghwa doesn’t know what to think...but until Hongjoong wakes up, he’s the captain, so...”

“He’s got you two watching me, doesn’t he?” San asked.

“He asked me to watch you,” Jongho said. “Wooyoung just doesn’t believe you knocked the captain out without reason.”

“I didn’t,” San said. “He almost killed Yeosang.”

“Yes, but why?” Wooyoung demanded, sitting up on one arm. “Hongjoong wouldn’t ever turn a blade on us...so why...?”

“It was...the shadow men,” San said cautiously. “One of them...came at us and disappeared. Then Hongjoong...changed. He wasn’t Hongjoong he was...someone else. I can’t explain it. He attacked Yeosang, and then he was coming for me so I knocked him out with an oar.”

“You hit him hard,” Jongho said carefully. “ _ Really _ hard. Hard enough that Yunho’s worried he...might not even wake up.”

San felt sick at that. He closed his eyes and grimaced. “I panicked,” he admitted. “But it stopped him. It stopped that...that  _ thing _ from forcing him to kill us.”

“So...you think he was possessed or something...?” Jongho asked, a frown marring his features.

Despite knowing that Jongho was the most logical and least superstitious of them all, San nodded. Jongho massaged his forehead and let out a tired sigh.

“Before you argue that ghosts don’t exist...you didn’t see what I saw,” San whispered. “It was horrible. Hongjoong...Hongjoong  _ really _ became someone else. His face changed too. Everything changed. It was like the idea of killing us made him happy.”

Wooyoung grimaced, but Jongho remained silent. Above them, lightning flashed, and thunder crackled loudly enough to make his ears ache. San sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Yet, the darkness gave him no rest. The image of the hourglass was imprinted on his eyelids. He could still hear the soft hiss of gold flakes rushing down from the top bulb and into the bottom, and the eerie blue lit lettering they’d read just before the shadow man had appeared.

_ When the hourglass runs empty... _

“We’re running out of time,” San whispered.

“What do you mean?” Wooyoung questioned.

“The hourglass on the ship,” San went on. “It’s...it’s still running, and when it stops...I think we will all die.”

Jongho and Wooyoung exchanged significant looks. Wooyoung swallowed nervously, then began to sit up. “I think we need to go tell Seonghwa,” he said.

Jongho inhaled sharply, then nodded his head. Even if he looked doubtful – even if he scarcely believed a word that came out of San’s mouth – he had to know that none of this was made up. It was too ridiculous to be a lie. The truth was that now, five of them had seen the shadow men, and if San and Yeosang’s word was anything to go by, they could touch them.

Jongho didn’t let go of San as he was escorted through the rain to the cobbled together tent that was rippling in the wind like a sail. Wooyoung held the flaps open, and they scrambled inside as another peal of thunder exploded overhead. Heads turned, and San’s quick headcount announced that they’d been the only ones beneath the overturned rowboat. San supposed Seonghwa had wanted him isolated.

Seonghwa and Yunho sat next to a makeshift litter where Hongjoong lay unconscious with his head bundled in thick bandages. Yeosang’s arm was tightly bound, and his doze was broken the moment the tent opened. He still looked pale, but the colour was steadily returning to his cheeks. Mingi was reinforcing a pole that was coming loose in the wind and threatening to bring the tent down. He tied the final knot and looked over at them. His plush lips thinned, and he sat down on the floor with a glance towards Seonghwa.

“You’re awake, I see,” Seonghwa said, not getting up from Hongjoong’s bedside. “How are your hands?”

San looked down at them. The rain had dampened the fresh bandages, but someone had changed them. The broken blisters felt stiff, and his dislocated fingers had swollen to the point of immobility. It ached painfully when he tried to flex them, so he just let them be.

“Could be worse,” San concluded.

Seonghwa nodded, then glanced towards Yeosang. “Why don’t you fill me in on what happened, now that you’re awake?”

And San did. He told Seonghwa everything he told Wooyoung and Jongho. Mingi began to fidget, and Yunho spent an unusual amount of time tucking Hongjoong’s loose bangs beneath his bandages. Yeosang stared down at his knees and toyed with the knot on the bandage covering his forearm.

“I feel like this will only get worse,” San went on. “There’s an hourglass we found on the ship. It...it said...”

“To ye who seeks the Isle of Mørke, beware. As night falls, the mist comes with secrets unforgiving. To ye who walks the Isle of Mørke, beware. When the hourglass runs empty, ye shall never return to the land of the living,” Yeosang recited.

Another crackle of thunder erupted above the tent. Mingi pulled his knees against his chest.

“Nobody’s ever returned from this island,” Yeosang said quietly. “Maybe this is why.”

“That can’t be,” Seonghwa said with a shake of his head. “Monsters and demons, and cursed treasure...that’s all things from storybooks. In case you didn’t realize, we aren’t in a storybook.”

“Five of us now – including Hongjoong – have seen these...shadow people,” San pointed out. “One of them led Mingi into an ant’s nest. Wooyoung saw one on the beach, but nobody believed him. I saw one before I fell out of the tree – and the three of us saw them on the way to the ship, and one of them somehow took Hongjoong and turned him against us.”

“But what would motivate  _ anything _ to do something like that?” Seonghwa demanded. “Why Hongjoong? Why Mingi? Why any of us?”

“Because we’re here,” Yunho cut in. “Because this is their island, and they don’t want anything to stay here.”

“What do you mean?” Seonghwa demanded.

Yunho fidgeted, then took a breath. “I’ve...been having nightmares. I just...didn’t want anyone to worry.”

San chewed the inside of his lip. Lightning flashed brilliantly, and the rain picked up for a moment before fading to a dull roar.

“I see this hourglass and hear the sound of a clock,” Yunho elaborated. “And I hear...that phrase Yeosang said. Ye who walks the Isle of Mørke...I hear them talking. They all say the same thing – you will never escape. They show me horrible things – they want to  _ kill _ us, Seonghwa. I’m sure of it. That’s why Mingi fell into the ant nest – he was supposed to die there. San fell out of a tree – that was supposed to kill him too. And then one of them turned Hongjoong on us, and he almost killed Yeosang – and to make him stop, San almost killed Hongjoong by striking him with an oar to knock him out.”

For a few heartbeats, there was only silence. San wondered if any of them would deny it – if Jongho or Seonghwa would dismiss it as superstition caused by fear and try to find a way to logically explain the number of ways the island had already tried to kill them. He closed his eyes, and tried not to wonder if the next problem they would face was a lightning strike, and prayed they were far enough away from the tree line that they wouldn’t be tempting fate. The wind rattled the tent flaps hard enough to split them for a moment. San shivered at the chill along his back.

“Then,” Seonghwa said, looking back up from Hongjoong’s unconscious form. “As the stand-in captain until Hongjoong returns to us, I’m saying we ship out as soon as this storm lets up. We leave this island for good and never come back.”

A few agreeing nods slid between them, but Yunho shook his head.

“I don’t think it’ll be that easy,” he said. “The storm appeared just before we finished reloading the row boats. If we’d been on the water when the storm hit, we would’ve capsized. They  _ knew _ we were trying to leave, and they called the storm here.”

“Now that’s—”

“Don’t say ridiculous,” Yunho interrupted. “They knew we would try to leave. This storm won’t break until that hourglass runs dry and we’re trapped here forever.”

“What do we do, then?” Mingi asked, chewing his lip.

“We have to break the curse,” San said. “Somehow, we have to find a way to make that hourglass stop. Or...or find a way to get to our ship despite the weather – which won’t be easy.”

Seonghwa buried his face in his hands. San didn’t envy him. It was a terrible time for a first mate to be a stand-in captain. Somehow, Seonghwa had to lead them out of the situation Hongjoong had led them into with no further casualties.

“We’ll take a vote,” Seonghwa said, though San quietly wondered what there was to vote on. Leave now or leave later. Die now, or die later. Drown on the ocean in a storm, or let the shadow men pick them off like quails beneath a rifle.

“I’ll take my chances with the island,” Yeosang said. “In this storm, there’s no way we’ll get our rowboats out to the ship. If we try to get out now, we all drown.”

“If we stay, we’ll all die anyway,” Mingi added.

“But at least we’ll have time to think of a way to break whatever curse this island put on us,” Yeosang argued. “At least we know it involves the hourglass.”

“So, we find the hourglass, smash it, stop the clock and call it a day,” Jongho said, as though the answer should’ve been San hitting the hourglass instead of Hongjoong with the oar.

“If it’s magic, that won’t be so easy,” Yunho said with a shrug.

“There’s no such thing as magic,” Jongho said, to a particularly painful crackle of thunder.

“There is now,” Yunho retorted.

“The hourglass looked different from everything else on board that ship,” San said. “I don’t think shattering it is the answer. Though if we can find a way to stop it—” he was cut off by a gust of wind abruptly slamming into his back. He became soaked with rain from shoulders to ankles as he turned around to pull the flap shut again. He frowned and wondered exactly how it had come undone. He fumbled for the ties, and found only short strings that couldn’t be tied, and loose threads. His blood ran icy as he realized what had happened. The knots in the ties had been cut. The edges weren’t frayed enough to suggest a tear. It was clean – too clean to have been the storm.

Seonghwa slowly rose to his feet. He lifted a hand and began to count. He paused, then counted again.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” He finally said.

San pulled the flaps aside once more. Rain gushed down onto him and soaked him in seconds. Yet, San stared desperately through the deluge, searching. He could see nothing – only the silhouettes of whipping palm fronds with every flicker of lightning. The rowboat they’d been sheltering under not long ago had fallen over and had started to fill with rain water.

There was no sign of Wooyoung.

“Nobody saw him leave?” Seonghwa questioned, his eyes wide. “ _ None _ of you?”

Faces were pale, and heads were shaking. Nobody had been watching Wooyoung – their eyes had been everywhere but him. San remembered feeling the brush of cold wind along his back. He wondered if that had been Wooyoung leaving the tent. He wondered why he would leave the tent – why he would cut the strings instead of untying them. It wasn’t like him to just leave unannounced. He gripped the canvas hard enough that his blisters began to throb again.

“They took him,” San said, with the horrible certainty that Wooyoung going missing was the beginning of the end. “They took him...just like they took Hongjoong.”

Seonghwa started to shake his head, but then stopped. He sank back down next to Hongjoong’s bedside and jammed his hands into his hair. A few strands pulled loose. San turned his eyes onto the floor, wondering what to do.

It was obvious what the shadow men intended to do. They had taken Wooyoung hostage. None of them would attempt to leave the island unless they had all eight crew members. It was Hongjoong’s rule – no man left behind; ever. San never thought it was practical. Yet, he was grateful for the vow they’d made when each one of them joined the crew. It meant they wouldn’t leave Wooyoung to die. But with Hongjoong injured, it meant they couldn’t go looking for him as a group. Some would have to stay behind in the tent, while the rest braved the storm to find him. They would be split up – a weakened force. Easy pickings for a group of demons who wanted them all dead.

San looked up again, his gaze falling on every man he saw as his family. They were all scared – and perhaps they’d all come to the same realization he had. Seonghwa, to his credit, had pulled himself together and was tapping his thumbs together in the way that meant he was thinking. What would Hongjoong do? San wondered.

“I’ll go find him,” San volunteered.

Seonghwa shook his head. “No – I want you to stay here.”

“But—”

“I know you and Wooyoung are close,” Seonghwa said, lifting his head. “But right now, we need hands. Yours can’t take much more. Stay here.”

“My hands can find Wooyoung,” San argued. “He’s my best friend—like hell I’m going to sit here and wait for everyone to get back.”  _ Get back with a body, _ the horrible half of his mind whispered.

“You stay,” Seonghwa repeated, and got to his feet. “I want Jongho and Mingi.”

“I should go too,” Yunho said, his arms folded over his chest. “In case any of you get injured. Hongjoong and Yeosang are stable.”

“The tent is safer,” Seonghwa said, strapping on his bandolier. “We’ll need you if we return injured.”

Yunho made a face, but remained seated.

“Stay vigilant,” Seonghwa smiled gently, then beckoned the others. “Let’s find Wooyoung.”

San watched them go with a silent bubble of bitter resentment. Yeosang reached for his machete and drew it over his lap. Yunho double checked his belt dagger and grabbed a cutlass. San was tempted to pick up one of the gunpowder pistols, but in the damp of the storm, it wasn’t likely to fire. He wasn’t sure how a bullet would affect the shadow men, either.

The tent remained eerily silent as the storm raged into the night. Lightning flashed and flickered, silhouetting trees like shadow puppets on the side of the tent. San could hear the tick of a clock in his heartbeat, warning him that his hours were numbered. He tugged his belt dagger free and laid it over his knee. He watched lightning flash once more. The swaying shadows of the palm trees were hypnotic. The canvas of the tent rippled beneath the breath of the wind. Rain pounded down hard and fast, rising and falling sporadically in volume and showing no signs of letting up.

Yunho began to scratch notches in the stick Hongjoong had been using to track the days on the island. There were nine of them before Yeosang brought up the question.

“What are you counting?” He asked.

“They’ve been gone over an hour, almost two now,” Yunho said slowly. He slapped his palm with the stick. “This rain isn’t letting up. If they’re not back in the next thirty minutes, I’ll—”

Yunho was drowned out by a bolt of lightning that sent thunder crashing almost immediately afterwards. It left them shaking, with the air around them buzzing with the near miss. San’s heart raced as he stared at a portion of the tent that had illuminated with the bolt. Amongst the trees had been the figure of a man. One part of San felt terror, the other, confusion. The shadow men weren’t corporeal, yet they could cast a shadow.

The lightning grew painful in its frequency. San pressed his back into the tent as he watched the human shadow move on the other side of the canvas, stepping towards the flap. Yeosang gripped his machete and held it upright. Yunho raised his dagger, poised to throw. The flap parted under the touch of a pale hand with long fingers. San caught sight of the silver ring on his finger and rose to his feet.

Seonghwa staggered into the tent. There were vertical gashes through both of his eyes – softly bleeding wounds that marred his handsome features. His free hand was clutching one eye – a hand that was stained with enough crimson that it dripped off his elbow. The viscous sound mingled with the clatter of rain. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth and off his chin.

“Seonghwa? Are you okay?” Yunho dropped his belt knife and rushed forwards to pull him inside. He held his bloodied wrist in an attempt to pull it away from his face to look at the extent of the wounds. San could already tell it didn’t look good. Yeosang started to get to his feet as well, but froze. He looked towards Hongjoong, then back up at Seonghwa. San followed his gaze. His blood ran cold.

They were almost too late. Seonghwa’s belt dagger gleamed a disturbing blood red just before it lunged towards Yunho’s unprotected side. Yeosang shouted a warning. Yunho stumbled as he staggered back and fell. His shirt had been slashed open, and San couldn’t tell if the blood on him was from Seonghwa’s knife, or if Yunho had been wounded.

Yeosang didn’t stop to check. He grabbed Seonghwa’s wrist and held the knife as far away from his body as possible. Seonghwa turned his eyes onto him and bared his teeth. He snarled through crimson lips and fought Yeosang’s grip.

“Seonghwa, stop, this isn’t you,” Yeosang pleaded. “Please—where are the others? Where’s Mingi and Jongho?”

Seonghwa’s sickening smile widened. His tongue flicked out to lick over the corner of his mouth. His head tilted at an angle that didn’t look quite right. San wondered if Seonghwa was already dead, and the demon had simply taken his corpse for a ride. Bile rose in his throat and he tried not to retch.

Seonghwa’s other hand reached for Yeosang. His bloody fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed hard enough that Yeosang’s voice came out in a choking wheeze. Yunho threw himself to his feet and clawed at Seonghwa’s hand hard enough that his nails scratched pale skin. Yeosang’s knees started to give out beneath him. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“San,” Yunho ground out, still trying to pry Seonghwa’s fingers away from Yeosang’s throat. “San—you have to get to the hourglass.”

San inhaled shakily. He wanted to shake his head – he wanted to find some way to get his useless hands to pull Seonghwa off Yeosang – to hold that knife steady until the demon left his body. There was nothing to knock him unconscious with. Nothing that wouldn’t put Yeosang and Yunho at risk too.

Yeosang’s unfocused eyes found his. His lips formed one word, over and over. His grip was loosening on Seonghwa’s dagger. There wasn’t much time. San had to help – or he had to run.

_ Go, _ Yeosang’s soundless mouth whispered.  _ Go. Go. Go... _

Yunho made a horrible sound – a choked sob as he clawed harder at Seonghwa’s hand. “Seonghwa, Seonghwa  _ please, _ ” he begged. “San, get out of here—run! Please!”

The idea of abandoning his crew – leaving Yeosang and Yunho to die at the hands of Seonghwa and the demon – was too much to bear. Yet, he launched himself to his feet and braced his forearms in front of him. He ran hard enough that he bowled into Yeosang – into Seonghwa – through Yunho in the hopes that maybe –  _ maybe _ – his desperate attempt to be a battering ram would break Seonghwa’s grip.

The sound of bodies crashing into the wet sand, and Yunho’s final shriek of  _ run _ was enough that San knew he had to keep going. He tore down the beach as fast as his legs would carry him. Lightning split the sky, and thunder crashed overhead like deadly music – a warning, and also motivation. All around him, shadows loomed and lingered. He heard a voice that sounded painfully like Jongho’s, but disturbingly wrong. It was pitched like a poorly tuned instrument, and as grating as the sound of Yeosang’s whetstone.

“San! San, I need you!” Jongho’s awful voice shouted from the trees. “Help me!”

San shook it off and covered his ears. He stifled the tears that threatened to pour from his eyes. Hongjoong had become a demon. Seonghwa was a demon. San knew that the chances of finding Jongho as Jongho at this point were slim to none. He wouldn’t take the bait. He couldn’t take the bait.

Shadow men hovered around him, circling him, watching him. San visualized a fortress in his mind and tried to project it.  _ Don’t touch me, _ he thought.  _ Stay away from me _ . The shadow men didn’t come closer, but their presence was a sickening reminder of what was at risk. If he didn’t keep his guard up, he would become a demon too. He might even be forced to go back to the tent and help kill his crew mates. He whimpered as he tried not to think about Yeosang and Yunho alone to face the Seonghwa who wasn’t Seonghwa.

The cliff rose up in front of him. The incline he’d taken with Hongjoong and Yeosang what felt like a year ago was washed out with a flurry of water. San debated, testing his footing on the waterlogged rocks, and gritted his teeth. It was up and over with bad hands and even worse footing, or it was through the woods where the killer ants were. He was already out of breath, and his legs were screaming for mercy. But maybe, if he was lucky, the rain would prevent the ants from coming out if he stepped on their nests.

_ Do it, _ the shadow men seemed to say, hovering on the cliffside like beacons in the night.  _ Come get us. Take the easy way. _

San shook his head, then took the risk. He turned and plunged into the forest. The trees closed overhead, warding him and sending fat droplets of rain down onto his head with every gust of wind. Brambles and bushes snagged at his legs and tore into his breeches, but San didn’t stop running. Water poured down from the cliffs, threatening to bring a landslide onto his head. He wondered if the shadow men could cause one, or if natural disasters were beyond them aside from calling a storm.

A shadow man stood in the center of a clearing up ahead. San didn’t stop – he drew his belt dagger and raised it.

“Get out of my way!” He shouted, and hurled the dagger through the shadow man’s chest. He vanished into a puff of smoke, and his dagger landed point first in a tree on the other side of the clearing. He saw soft, muddy mounds of dirt that suggested ant hills. He took a breath, quickly stepped, and hurled himself into a long jump.

His heel sank into mud, and he felt the tickle of insect legs. He crushed the back of his leg against a tree. Pain lanced up from his ankle, and he shrieked loud enough that it overtook out the sound of thunder. It was like being pierced by a hot, iron nail fresh from the forge. A cold sweat started out on his forehead, and his knees began to tremble. How had Mingi taken more than a dozen of these?

He slapped the backs of his legs for good measure, but the two that had managed to crawl onto him had been crushed. Shadow men loomed close by, and San ripped his dagger from the tree and lunged at them. They scattered into the rain. San shook his throbbing leg and started to run once more.

He saw no more ant nests, but plenty of thorny plants took their place before he found the beach again. The storm was sending waves crashing onto the hull of the moored boat. The torn sails were flapping in the wind, and the faded flag looked ready to give up. The gangway had turned into a river of water, and the deluge had waterlogged the deck badly enough that it had become a lake. San splashed his way up the slick surface on his hands and knees, giving up on keeping his bandages dry. The door to the captain’s quarters stood closed like an iron gate, but it crashed open when San threw his weight against it.

Inside the captain’s quarters, there was a break from the rain. Yet, San froze in the doorway. The hourglass was almost empty, and the gold flakes were the only source of light in the room. Yet, it was enough to illuminate the figure seated on the mouldering bed. His head turned, and his dark lips curled into a welcoming smile. His eyes were striking, surrounded by smears of black that dripped down his cheeks from the rain water.

“San,” Wooyoung said, and rose to his feet with his characteristic, brilliant smile. “You made it!”

San shivered, and he didn’t think it was because the rain had chilled him to the bone. Wooyoung walked with an elegant grace – one that didn’t fit who he was, yet had the slightest bounce to suggest he was there, and possibly even in control. And yet, the inky black surrounding his eyes, necrotic lips, and crescent moon tattoo between his eyes suggested that this was  _ not _ Wooyoung, and never would be Wooyoung.

And yet, his hands – his fingertips pale, yet warm – folded tenderly around his cheeks as he smiled.

“You look good,” he said, his eyes darting up and down. “These braids...” His hand smoothed over the top of his head – through his rain-soaked hair. His fingertips trailed down his forehead and over his cheeks. “And these tattoos...they really suit you.”

San didn’t know what he was talking about. His hair wasn’t in braids, and there was nothing on his face. He wondered what Wooyoung was seeing with his dark eyes, and if the demon inside of him was making him hallucinate.

“Wooyoung,” San said, taking his hands in his. “Why did you leave the tent?”

Wooyoung tilted his head, his lip jutting out in a pout. “You know, hearing all of those stories you guys were telling...about the hourglass, and the doom and death...it made me think that you didn’t actually understand what was going on here. That’s all.”

“What do you mean...?” San asked.

“Didn’t you know? They’re actually quite nice – these shadow men,” Wooyoung said thoughtfully. “They’re trapped here too, you know. They can never leave this island. They were cursed when they stole treasure from a witch. After they died and their bodies were lost to the sea, their ship ran aground, and this is where their souls stay now. This island isn’t so bad, you know – as long as you stay away from the ants.”

San kept hold of Wooyoung’s hands – just so he knew where they were. He couldn’t tell if Wooyoung had brought a knife with him, but he wasn’t about to give him a pat down to find out. As long as his hands were occupied, they couldn’t take hold of a knife.

“Have you ever wondered what it was like...to walk without a body...?” Wooyoung asked, tilting his head. “To see coconuts growing on the trees, and never be able to taste them? To watch the sun rise, yet never feel its warmth? It’s so painful, isn’t it...?”

“Yeah,” San agreed without thinking.

“So, you understand,” Wooyoung said, his smile widening. His hands pulled San closer – close enough that their noses were almost touching. “I knew you would...you’re always so thoughtful. It’s why I want you to be my first mate. You’ll be great, you know.”

“First mate...?” San questioned.

“Yes,” Wooyoung said breathlessly. “You see, they promised I could be the captain. I could lead us well, don’t you think? Now that Hongjoong is gone.”

“Hongjoong isn’t gone,” San protested. “He’ll wake up.”

“No,” Wooyoung tilted his head. “He won’t. His soul was taken away. It lies here now – on this island. The shadow men have taken his body. They’re holding his soul so he can’t fight back. Just in case.”

“And the others...?” San asked hesitantly.

Wooyoung hummed, and swung their hands together. “Do they matter?”

“Of course, they do,” San said, sneaking a glance at the hourglass. Time was running out. He didn’t have much longer to break the curse.

“They’re all gone,” Wooyoung said. “You’re the only one whose soul hasn’t been taken.”

San swallowed at that. “G...Gone...?”

Wooyoung nodded, then tilted his head. “They want you the most, you know. There’s one more...one more who wants to share your body. They’ve been competing, but you have a strong soul. They can’t take you unless you let them.”

“Why should I let them?” San asked.

“Because, if you don’t fight them, you can live with them,” Wooyoung said, his smile shining behind his black lips. “They’ll let you have control sometimes – like now, how I’m talking to you – and you can do whatever you want. They’re showing me you, San – how you will look if you let them in. You’re so handsome, San – so, so handsome.”

Wooyoung was dangerously close now. His breath felt hot against San’s lips. Their hands were squashed between their chests, and Wooyoung only seemed to want to pull him closer.

“I’ve always liked you,” Wooyoung breathed. “But I’d be lying if I said this look – all of this – wasn’t making my heart beat so much faster...”

San should’ve stopped it – but he didn’t. Wooyoung’s lips were warm and stifling, and his tongue lapped between his lips in a way that sent sparks shooting to the tips of his toes. It wasn’t Wooyoung – hell, it looked almost nothing like the Wooyoung he knew and loved – but if he closed his eyes, it wouldn’t matter. It was still Wooyoung – and if his words of the shadow men letting them have control sometimes were true, then it was Wooyoung who had chosen to kiss him.

San found himself returning it with startling eagerness. Wooyoung made a sound somewhere between pleasure and pleading. He yanked his hands free of San’s and clutched the back of his head to pull him closer. San laid his palms against his back, feeling his chest heaving – feeling his body shift and shudder with every touch. Wooyoung was delightfully responsive. San had no idea how good kissing him could feel.

Something pressed against his back – something cold, with hands of its own. San gasped and pulled away. Wooyoung held his face between his hands and stroked his cheekbones.

“Don’t fight it,” Wooyoung whispered. “Don’t...let me keep you, right here...you and I...”

_ Let me in, _ the dark voice at the back of his mind whispered. He saw twisting images – visions of the past – of golden treasure, and the disturbing curse of having your soul bound to the mortal realm. Of feeling your body melt away, yet your soul remained stable as it watched on in fear and awe. Of dark hands passing through objects it could no longer touch. Of cold – endless, numbing cold that would never end until the day a body could be held on to.

And yet, San knew the truth. The curse was tied to the shadow men, not them. The longer the shadow men stayed in their body, the more their flesh would peel away and leave the shadow men without form once again until the next ship arrived with a crew that they could take to fulfill their need for physical pleasures. The hourglass was not theirs – it belonged to the shadows. When it ran out, they would no longer have a body in this world. San’s body – Wooyoung’s, and the others – they would cease to exist.

_ Give it to me! _ The voice roared at the back of his mind.  _ I want it! I want to feel it! _

“It won’t make a difference,” San said, feeling his eyes burn with tears. They dripped down his cheeks, hot and wet. “It was over for them the day they stole that treasure. Wooyoung...we can still do this, you and I. We don’t need these shadow men...we don’t need this island.”

Wooyoung’s lip trembled. “But you never...San, you never...”

“When this is over, I will kiss you in the crow’s nest until you believe me,” he promised. “I will tell you just how precious you are to me – how much I love you. Until then, I need you to sleep. I need you to not let them use you for another second.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened as San wrapped a hand around his throat. He heard the scream of protests, and Wooyoung’s fingers clawed at the back of his hand, tearing the bandages and scratching his skin.

“Shh,” San whispered, lowering Wooyoung onto his back. “Just until tomorrow. I will fix this. I promise you we will be together and the sun will be shining.”

Tears leaked from Wooyoung’s black rimmed eyes, drifting down to meet the ones that dripped from San’s. Slowly, Wooyoung’s struggling weakened, and his eyes fell closed. San waited, fighting back against the screaming – the shouting. He waited until the heartbeat slowed just enough – not enough to signal death, but enough to signal rest. He sobbed and swatted the shadow away from his back before binding Wooyoung’s wrists behind his back. He took his belt dagger and attached it to his own waist.

Then, he turned towards the hourglass.


	4. The Hourglass

The hourglass gleamed in the empty darkness of the decrepit ship. The flakes of gold rustled and whispered as they fell like miniscule gold coins into the bulb below. There wasn’t much time left – perhaps a handful of minutes until the ticking would stop, and San would lose his place on the earth, along with the others.

Wooyoung was silent behind him, and the weight of what he’d done left him sick. He clutched the worn wooden table for support as he retched. All around him, the wind howled and screamed its rage at San’s defiance – at San’s actions to take a conscious body away from the hands of the shadow men. Waves crashed into the stern of the ship, splashing viciously behind the shattered windows.

Wiping the side of his mouth with the sleeve, San ignored the screeches of the demons – of the cursed men who had doomed themselves to eternal suffering. He thought he knew what hell was – a deadly maelstrom of fire and darkness that burned souls from existence. Now he knew what hell truly was – an existence without form. Walking a world he couldn’t interact with. Yet, he had no obligation to help the cursed souls – and he had no need to, either. They’d committed their sin, and now they had to serve the punishment.

The hourglass was surprisingly heavy. The wind howled louder, and he saw the shadows of the demons swirling around him in fury.  _ Don’t touch it! _ They shrieked.  _ Leave it alone! _

No, San thought, watching the gold sparkle as it plummeted through the bulbs. There were seconds left, but San already had the answer.

Gripping it with both hands, San tipped the hourglass and turned it over. All around him, screams sounded. Lightning poured down from the sky and thunder split the sky. San’s head spun circles, and he clutched the table as the ship rocked nauseatingly beneath him. The gold sand in the hourglass was still running, but it was flowing the wrong way. The last few seconds he had intended to halt were raining upwards – defying gravity, and all sense and sensibility. San fought back a sob. He’d failed. He’d hurt Wooyoung, and for what? Curses couldn’t be broken. San had doomed them all. Perhaps he should’ve just smashed the hourglass like Jongho had suggested.

The last trickles of gold sand rose and slid into the top of the bulb. The ship’s deck collapsed beneath him, and he fell. He fell fast enough that he could no longer see the sky. He fell fast enough, that he was certain the end would come quickly. Yet, San kept falling. He fell for so long, that he wondered if he’d slipped from the crow’s nest. He waited for the sickening crunch of his bones coming apart. He waited for the infinite black void that would take him away from this endless tumble through nothingness. He thought of Wooyoung, and the other members of his crew, and prayed.

_ Please, _ he begged.  _ If this is the end for me, let them all be alright... _

And then, everything stopped. There was no crash, nor a disturbing shift in the shape of his body. Instead, he felt the ground beneath him move in a familiar, curving motion. The sound of the waves, and the smell of the sea jarred his senses. Slowly, San opened his eyes.

Blue sky and sunlight. The day was cloudless, and the burning sun felt pleasant compared to the chill of thick sheets of rain. His clothes were already dry, though with how warm it was, it was hardly a surprise.

Next to him, something shifted. He heard a groan, and the ground rocked beneath him. San turned and nearly sobbed at the sight of Hongjoong sitting up, gripping the side of the rowboat tightly enough that his knuckles turned white. He massaged his forehead and brushed the bangs from his eyes, then he turned and looked down at San. He made a breathy sound – a laugh, somewhere between disbelief and perfect joy. He hauled him upright and held his shoulders tightly.

“You did it,” he said, as though he couldn’t believe it. As though San knew what the hell he was talking about. “You freed us.”

Behind Hongjoong, the island sat ominously amongst the faintest shroud of mist. In the distance, he could see the old ghost ship bobbing amongst the waves. He looked away, fearing he would see the shadow men again.

Nearby, the other rowboat began to show signs of life. Jongho sat up first, his confused and disoriented eyes, looking at Hongjoong and San before turning to look at the island. Then, he reached down and helped Yeosang, Yunho and Seonghwa sit up. He gripped his oar between his hands and looked towards Hongjoong, awaiting orders.

Mingi sat up with a hand on his forehead. He looked nervously at the island, then back towards Hongjoong.

“Please tell me we’re not landing,” he said.

Hongjoong shook his head. “Back to the ship!” He ordered.

Jongho dug his paddle into the water with enough eagerness that San suspected if he was told otherwise, he would’ve defied orders. Yeosang helped, and Seonghwa passed a paddle to Yunho before they were coasting back towards their waiting ship. San scooped up his oar and held a fourth one before he realized Wooyoung hadn’t sat up. He looked down at where Wooyoung was hiding his face in the hull of the boat. His shoulders were rising and falling unevenly.

Hongjoong met his eyes, then shook his head. San set the spare paddle aside. He gripped his gingerly, then realized he had no need to. His hands had healed. He didn’t have a blister in sight, and the two, dislocated fingers had shrunk to their normal size. He dug his paddle into the water and pushed the boat after Seonghwa’s.

For a long time, San worried. He worried that Wooyoung had been the only one who hadn’t come back to them. But he climbed out of the boat when it was back on deck, and climbed the ladder to the crow’s nest without another word. Eyes followed him, but none protested. Instead, gazes locked on San, torn between gratitude, and trepidation.

Hongjoong laid a hand on San’s shoulder and squeezed it tightly. “Help us raise the sails, then you can talk to him,” he said.

San merely nodded. “I...everyone knows what happened...?” he asked.

Hongoong glanced at the crew, then nodded. “We saw you. We saw everything. I know you stopped me from hurting Yeosang, and we know you ran through the storm to get to the ship. We know what happened with Wooyoung.”

“How?” San questioned.

Jongho shrugged his shoulders. “Our souls were knocked from our bodies if we didn’t let them in,” he said. “We were...basically all over the island at the same time. We felt it every time another one of us joined, and we knew Wooyoung had let go when he didn’t join us. You were all that was left.”

“And you freed us,” Hongjoong said again, his smile bright. “You were brilliant.”

San didn’t feel brilliant in that moment. Wooyoung had disappeared into the crow’s nest, and San felt like a traitor. He had hurt Wooyoung, and he’d done it without hesitation. He might’ve had a good reason for it, but that didn’t mean what he’d done was right.

“Weigh anchor!” Hongjoong shouted. “Let’s set sail!”

Knots were untied, and sails dropped down from above. The anchor creaked as it rose up from the ocean floor. A gust of wind caught the sails, and the ship began to move. Hongjoong spun the helm, keeping their course steady as they twisted the ship around the island to go back the way they’d come. It gave them time to appreciate the beauty of it – the beauty that concealed the danger hidden inside. The ghost ship sat ominously, beached behind the rocky cliff. This time, San saw a line of shadows along the ship’s stern.

The shadow men, watching them leave.

San tied off a rope and left the crew behind. He gripped the rungs of the ladder leading up to the crow’s nest and began to climb. Hand over hand, he took himself closer to Wooyoung – further from the deck. Surrounded by the wild ripple of sails, San felt at peace. The horizon was a beautiful line all around him, interrupted only by the island that was slowly fading into the distance.

Wooyoung was leaning over the wooden railing, watching the island disappear into the mist. He didn’t look up when San joined him.

“You don’t pity them, do you?” San asked, gazing at Wooyoung’s features in profile. He looked sun kissed and beautiful, just as he always did.

Wooyoung didn’t respond right away. Instead, he waited until the island was gone, and only ocean remained in his line of sight.

“I pity myself,” Wooyoung said tiredly. “For letting them fool me into thinking they were worth pity.”

San slid closer until their thighs were touching. He wrapped his arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders.

“You have a good heart,” San said optimistically.

Wooyoung sighed, then finally took his eyes off the horizon. He laid his cheek on the railing and looked towards San.

“You look better without those tattoos...” he mumbled. “They ruined your face, actually. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You weren’t yourself,” San said, brushing his bangs from his forehead. The crescent moon tattoo was gone, and his eyes only held the dark circles of a night of disturbed sleep. His lips were pink and plush. San couldn’t help but focus on them.

Wooyoung looked up to his hair thoughtfully and smiled a little. “Maybe the braids, though. Or at least a ponytail.”

San laughed softly. He looked away and watched the gentle ripples of the ocean and relished the sway of the ship with every wave.

“You only kept one promise, then,” Wooyoung said.

“What...?” San asked.

“The sun is shining,” Wooyoung’s cheeks were flushed pale pink. “Just like you promised.”

San felt his resolve weaken. His heart beat faster, then softer. He inhaled shakily, then pulled Wooyoung closer to him.

“You are precious to me,” he said and pressed their foreheads together. “I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry I had to do that to you.”

Wooyoung shook his head. “Don’t apologize for that.”

“I love you,” San confessed. “Really, I do.”

Wooyoung’s cheeks turned pinker, and San laid a hand on the back of his head. Their lips met, though it was without the desperation of the last one. Instead, it was soft – breathy, and filled with the need to get just a little closer. Wooyoung’s grip was iron tight, begging him to never let go.

“Do you believe me?” San whispered against his lips, and Wooyoung smiled against them.

“Maybe I need a little more...” he said suggestively.

San rolled his eyes and pressed him to the deck. Wooyoung gasped when their tongues collided.

San didn’t stop kissing him, even after Wooyoung believed him.


End file.
